


A Very Merry Un-Birthday

by fearfully_beautifully_made



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Bottoming from the Top, Bubble Bath, Coming Untouched, Dancing, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Rimming, Romance, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Top John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9345200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is absolutely terrible with dates.  Not the sort of date where two people who like one another go out and have fun together; he's actually rather good at those, at least as far as John Watson is concerned.  But he is terrible at remembering holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries; even Christmas gets forgotten in the hustle and bustle of his every day life.  So when Sherlock deduces that it's John's birthday, he is forced to take drastic measures to ensure the day does not pass without notice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just rot your teeth out fluffy sweetness. It was a fic I worked on while I was writing the last work I posted that was dark and full of angst. There's no real substance to this work, it was just written to cheer myself up and I hope it might do the same for you! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. None of these lovely characters belong to me I just borrow them to write fluffy, smutty fics. 
> 
> Also, my works are unbetad and are not Brit picked, all errors are 100% my own; please feel free to leave a comment if you catch some nasty typo or something of the sort. I remain terrible at tagging (although I am attempting to get better) so if there is a tag you think should be added or removed, please feel free to leave me a comment about that as well. 
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy! <3

_Sherlock_

Truthfully, Sherlock was horrible with dates.

He was brilliant of course and he could see things that no one else could manage to draw the connections between. He'd acquired the skills necessary to function as a half of a unit, even if those skills only extended to John.  He was actually quite good at deducing what John needed and when he needed it; their relationship had worked out splendidly. It had been better than he could have hoped for, better than he’d imagined it possibly could be because John had understood him in a way that no one else ever had or ever could. Not much had changed when their relationship status did, they were still best friends, they still solved cases, they still bickered, Sherlock still tinkered about with experiments, and John still lost his temper and stormed out for some air.  But now they also had sex which Sherlock enjoyed immensely.

But none of this changed the fact that he was awful with dates; he’d never been terribly interested in keeping track of the what day of the week he was on, let alone what ‘important’ dates were. He’d never been good at remembering appointments or special occasions like Mother’s Day or even Christmas. But he was especially terrible at remembering birthdays.

It was this exact trouble that had put Sherlock in such a state this morning. Before going to the clinic John had woken him, gently pressing wet kisses along his neck and shoulders. Sherlock had grumbled and pushed him away a bit; he’d just come to bed about half an hour before. He’d had a highly time sensitive experiment that he’d needed to finish the night before and as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t getting any younger and it seemed his transport needed more rest than it once had. John had simply hummed fondly, pressed a kiss to his temple, and ruffled his curls before climbing out of bed.

As far as mornings went, this was nothing out of the ordinary. When John left for the clinic, it always went one of two ways; Sherlock begged and pleaded and seduced John back into bed or he slept right through the whole affair. In either case, John didn’t particularly seem to mind. From what Sherlock could recall, this had been equally true this morning.

No, it wasn’t until Mrs. Hudson came up later carrying the tray of coffee and a plate of John’s favourite scones that Sherlock realized something was different. Mrs. Hudson rarely made John’s favourite scones; they took longer to make and she wasn’t at all fond of coconut. Any time those scones found their way into the flat, Sherlock knew something important was happening.

The tricky thing was that he had to figure it out on his own because it upset Mrs. Hudson greatly when he forgot something “important.” Inevitably, he would be forced to endure a long lecture about the importance of remembering things for the other person’s sake. “No happy relationship only had one person invested in it,” she’d told him the last time she’d deemed the need for such a lecture had arisen.

He laid himself out on the sofa and rested his hands thoughtfully under his chin as he began he began parsing out potential reasons for the appearance of John’s favourite scones. He knew it wasn’t their anniversary, they hadn’t been together long enough in a romantic sense for that to be the case and even if they had Mrs. Hudson would be baking something that was his favourite not John’s (because Sherlock was without a doubt her favourite.) He hadn’t been promoted, Sherlock was sure of it, John had gone in late twice this week alone and missed a shift altogether just the week prior. In fact, if Sherlock remembered correctly, John had just been moved to part-time status again. John hadn’t saved him from any particularly grueling or dangerous case so Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t be trying to encourage that sort of behaviour.

It left just one option in Sherlock’s mind, it must be John’s birthday.

So now, Sherlock was in a bit of a pickle. He’d had some truly brilliant ideas for John’s birthday, of course he had, but they all required significantly more time than Sherlock had at his disposal at this point. He paced back and forth thinking about John, the man he loved more than life itself, and a plan began to form in his mind.

Well, there wasn’t a moment to lose, he had his work cut out for him.


	2. Chapter 2

_John_

When John returned to the flat, he was feeling rather irritable. Work at the clinic had been abysmal today and more than anything he wanted to sit down with a cup of tea and a good book. This dream was never actualized in real life when one lived with both a toddler who periodically threw strops and didn't sleep through most of the night on any given day because he was busy conducting experiments or being brilliant and with an actual toddler who had in fact become very good at sleeping through the night. He loved his life, he truly did, but it didn't change his exhaustion level some days. He was sure that Sherlock would be quite ready to hand over Rosie when he came through the door, he'd had her the entire day; he was equally sure the flat would be utter chaos as Sherlock spared no thoughts for tidiness when entertaining Rosie. Gathering his wits, he jogged up the stairs, hanging his coat and toeing off his shoes before moving into the flat.

When he came in, he found that the flat looked nothing like he'd imagined, nor anything like it had this morning when he left. Only the skull on the mantle gave away the fact that he had not stepped into the wrong house. “Sherlock?” he called, looking around at the flat in complete bewilderment. He had never, in all of his time at Baker Street, seen the flat this tidy. It hadn’t merely been hovered; it had been dusted, papers had been straightened and seemingly filed, books had been returned to their posts on the shelves, the dvd collection had been tucked into the cupboard, the socks that Sherlock kicked off when he got too warm had been tidied away into the wash bin, the vast array of baby toys and paraphernalia had been tidied away; presumably to John's old room which had been converted into the nursery.

As he continued his inspection of the flat, he found the kitchen in a similar state. The table was completely experiment free, the floor scrubbed clean of all of its stains, when he opened the fridge he saw that it had been scrubbed sparkling white. What on earth had come over Sherlock today?

Just as he was about to call for Sherlock once more, he heard the downstairs door open and the familiar sound of Sherlock climbing the stairs two by two. He flew in through the door without removing his coat or scarf, arms laden with take away bags, hair tousled, looking slightly manic.

“Oh,” he murmured when he saw John standing in the kitchen. “You’re home already.” His shoulders practically slumped as he spoke, looking down at the bags in his hands.

“I am,” John affirmed with a grin. "Where's Miss Rosie?  I do hope you haven't put her into one of your grocery bags."

“What?" Sherlock asked, looking down at his arms, "Don't be ridiculous, she's staying over night with Molly."  John was about to ask why when Sherlock started speaking again.  "Right,” Sherlock said, setting all of the various bags on the counter. “That’s alright. Here,” he said, pulling out a package from one of the paper bags and dumping it unceremoniously into John’s arms. “Go get changed and when you come back I’ll have everything else ready.”

“What am I meant to change into?” John asked in amusement.

Sherlock turned and looked at him, “Well whatever you like I suspect, but I’d rather hoped you might open the package.” Sherlock gave him a quick grin and a peck on the lips, “Now go on.”

John shook his head, but dutifully carried the package down the hall to the bedroom and set it on the bed. He pulled a swiss army knife from the bedside table and cut the strings binding the parcel. When he’d cleared the paper, he opened the box and what he found took his breath away.

Inside was the softest, most beautiful blue jumper he had ever had the pleasure of touching. He pulled it delicately from the box and ran his hands over it before rubbing the fabric across his cheek. It was divine, it was the most incredible thing he’d ever touched; it felt like a winter day spent cozy indoors by the fire; it was hot tea, a good book, and a cuddle all rolled into one. He slipped off the oatmeal coloured jumper he’d worn all day and pulled the blue one on; it fit perfectly. He ran his hands down his stomach, stroking the fabric in contentment.

When he glanced at the box, he found he’d missed something in his ecstasy regarding the jumper. There was a lovely pair of socks in there as well. He withdrew them next and slipped them onto his feet, wiggling his toes in the soft warm fabric. Marveling at this perfect gift.

He returned to the kitchen, “Sherlock,” he called.

“Just a moment, John.”

“These are perfect," he said, ignoring Sherlock's words.

Sherlock turned, but the words that seemed to have been on his lips died as he looked at John. He stared for a moment, his eyes going soft in a way that never ceased to make John feel giddy.

“Yes,” Sherlock affirmed after a moment. “They are, aren’t they? Sit.” He gestured to the table, which John had just noticed was set up with plates, candles, a bottle of wine, and all of the foods John liked. Literally every food John liked. There was spaghetti and meatballs from Angelo’s, the General Tso’s chicken from the Chinese Restaurant down the road, Pad Thai from the Thai restaurant, rice and curry from the Indian place, and Fish and Chips from the pub he and Greg went to once a month.

“I...” John trailed off, not sure where to begin. “Sherlock, what is all of this? Are these all of my favourite foods?”

“Well, just a few,” Sherlock replied. “Now sit down, before everything gets cold.”

So John did as he was told and sat down, Sherlock poured him a glass of wine and pressed a kiss to his temple before sitting down across from him and asking about his day. The two of them chatted, Sherlock told him about the experiment he'd finished and the case he’d subsequently solved, and listened to John natter on about patients. When John didn’t think he could eat another bite, he pushed his plate back and smiled contentedly at Sherlock. “This was lovely, thank you.”

“Well, we aren’t done yet,” Sherlock informed him, with a smirk. “Come on,” he said, standing up and offering his hand to John.

John chuckled and gave Sherlock a questioning look but took the proffered hand and let himself be led into the living room where Sherlock pressed the play button on the ipod he’d docked. A moment later the sounds of Jazz music filled the room. “Dance with me?” Sherlock whispered.

“Yeah, alright,” John replied, pulling Sherlock into his arms and cradling him close to his chest. Sherlock let his head rest on John’s shoulder as they swayed and moved to the soft music. And even though John had no idea why they were dancing, or why Sherlock had cleaned the house, or gone through all of the trouble of preparing all of his favourite things and getting Molly to watch Rosie overnight, John couldn’t help but feel profoundly grateful that he had.

They swayed together, skin brushing against one another's skin, hands stroking backs and occasionally slipping under fabric to skim along warm flesh. Sherlock hummed softly with the music and John couldn't resist pressing kisses to whatever skin he could reach.

Some indeterminable amount of time later, Sherlock pulled back from him just enough to press their lips together. Sherlock stroked his hands through the hair at the nape of John’s neck as he kissed him. They continued to rock back and forth with one another as they kissed, immersed in just being the two of them.

“I love you,” John murmured when Sherlock pulled back to breathe and leaned his forehead against John’s.

Sherlock hummed in approval and pressed his lips to John’s softly once more, before pressing them to his for an extra few seconds as though he couldn’t bear not to.

“Come on,” Sherlock said when he pulled back. “Let’s have a bath.”

He tugged at John’s hands and drew him from the living room into the bathroom. John watched as he put the stopper in the tub and began filling it with warm water, adding some salts and oils as the steam started enveloping the room.

“What are all of these?” John asked, examining the bottles and jars around Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged, “A little of this, a little of that. Everything needed to help you feel relaxed.”

“I do feel relaxed,” John murmured, leaning in and pressing his lips to the nape of Sherlock’s neck. “What makes you think I need relaxing?” John asked as he reached around and began unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt. “Is this all an atonement for something terrible?” he pondered aloud, wondering what Sherlock possibly could have done that needed making up for to this degree.

Sherlock huffed, “No. Do I have to have done something wrong to be kind?”  
  
“Of course not, love,” John said, stroking Sherlock’s now bare chest soothingly with his fingers. “I just can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve all of this.”

“You’re being ridiculous. You positively spoil me on a daily basis for no reason at all,” Sherlock said, standing up and turning to face John. John was rather distracted, as he always was when Sherlock was partially undressed, by the sight of his smooth lovely skin.

“Well, that’s true,” John murmured, leaning forward and nibbling at Sherlock’s collarbone. “But you’re brilliant.” He stopped speaking in favor of sucking a rather large bruise into Sherlock’s shoulder where he’d brushed his shirt off.

“Stop that,” Sherlock chided, a flush working its way down his chest. “You’re distracting me.” He pulled away and headed toward the door, “Get undressed and get in the tub, I’ll be back in a minute.”

With those parting words, Sherlock left the bathroom, leaving John pondering what exactly the reason behind all of this was. As he was taking off his clothes, folding them neatly and setting them on the toilet seat, a thought occurred to him. Perhaps Sherlock was proposing. He froze for a moment, completely unable to process the thought. They’d only been dating for three months, wasn’t it too soon?

He unstuck himself from the floor and climbed into the tub, sinking below the water that was the perfect temperature and smelled like sandalwood. Sighing contentedly he reflected on their last few months together, on their lives as a whole with one another.  Perhaps they’d only been officially “dating” for a few months but they’d known each other for years, lived together for years, and spent every waking moment together anyway. What would getting married really change, except for maybe a last name?

To be honest, John had always imagined (when he’d allowed himself to daydream) that he’d be the one proposing to Sherlock. It didn’t really seem like his area and John had seriously doubted that Sherlock would have even seen the reason for it in the first place. And of the two of them, John was undoubtedly the romantic, he remembered important dates, seduced Sherlock into bed on a regular basis, and really did spoil Sherlock rotten.

Although, he had to admit, being proposed to had been lovely so far. Sherlock had done a beautiful job orchestrating the evening. With that thought, John leaned his head back against the tub and closed his eyes, relaxing and letting the thoughts of everything that was going to happen drift away from him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

_Sherlock_

Sherlock had to admit, this night was going even better than he’d imagined it would. John seemed to have enjoyed every bit of it and Sherlock was quite proud of all that he had accomplished in such a short amount of time. John must have been surprised that he remembered his birthday, and in fairness Sherlock never had before so he had no reason to expect it now.

Sherlock went to the living room and fetched the ipod and speakers before coming back into the bathroom to find John resting with his head against the back of the tub. He just stood there in the doorway for a moment, taking in this snippet in time, this shining moment that he could cherish on dark days. He really did love the man in front of him, even if he struggled to get the words out sometimes. But it didn’t matter, John had told him it didn’t matter, he knew the truth even if Sherlock had to struggle to say it. It was all fine.

He pressed the play button and John lazily turned his head to look at Sherlock through half lidded eyes, watching as Sherlock slipped out of the shirt John had unbuttoned for him and pulled off his trousers, leaving them in a pile on the floor.

John shook his head, “How your clothes always manage to look so perfect, I’ll never understand.”

“One of the many benefits of having a service that takes care of laundry for you. Budge up,” he said, watching as John scooched up to make room for Sherlock in front of him. They’d done this both ways now and had discovered that it was better when John sat behind Sherlock.

Logically, it made no sense, Sherlock was longer and taller, his arms and legs undoubtedly fit better around John in the tub when he sat in the back. But the trouble was he’d hated it. The porcelain of the tub was cold against his skin and as nice as it was to be able to kiss the back of John’s neck and inspect his skin on his back and shoulders, he much preferred it when John was holding him close. He loved feeling the steady rise and fall of John’s chest as he breathed, loved the tickle on the back of his neck when John exhaled, loved the way John’s fingers traced over his skin.

“Come on, then,” John said, tugging at Sherlock’s hand to get him into the water and settled. The water sloshed over the sides a bit, Sherlock always filled the tub too full, but John had had the foresight to put down a few towels near the edge.

John pulled Sherlock back so his back was flush against his chest and wrapped his arms around him. He pressed a kiss to the nape of Sherlock’s neck and Sherlock tipped his head back to rest on John's shoulder. They sat together in silence, simply enjoying one another's company and the soft music, John pressing soft kisses to his shoulders and cheek and occasionally his lips when Sherlock turned his head just right while Sherlock stroked the skin on John’s arms and legs. They cuddled until the water got cold and then reluctantly drew apart to climb from the bath.

Sherlock climbed out first and handed John a towel, “Do you want to go to bed?” Sherlock asked, giving John a suggestive smirk.

“Don’t you have a question to ask me?” John asked with a grin the size of a child's on Christmas morning.

“Did I not just ask a question aloud?” he asked curiously, maybe his mind had spoken so loudly he hadn’t actually articulated his thought to John.

John stared at him for a moment, then shook his head, “Fine. Have it your way then,” he said good naturedly before he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s again.

Sherlock pulled back after a moment, “Have what my way?” he asked, pulling John in to him with the towel he’d wrapped around his waist. “Do you not want to go to bed, John?” He pressed a few kisses to John’s neck and collarbone.

“Nothing, love,” John said, gasping softly as Sherlock sucked a bruise into his collarbone. “Ignore me. I do want to go to bed, very much.”

“Good,” Sherlock said, tugging John’s hand and dragging him into the bedroom. He laid John out on the bed and tossed both of their towels in the corner.

John smiled up at him, reaching up to stroke his curls, “What were you imagining?”

Sherlock shrugged and pressed a kiss to John’s lips; soft and sweet and full of all of the words that got stuck in his throat. “Whatever you want,” Sherlock murmured against John’s lips.

“Whatever I want, hmmm?” John replied, letting his hands slide down Sherlock’s back, stroking his skin and drawing their hips flush together subsequently rubbing their erections against one another. He pulled Sherlock back into a soft kiss, their bodies rocking in tandem against one another. They continued on this way, all soft kisses and the slick slide of skin against skin, gasps and soft moans followed by reverent whispered names.

Sherlock was never quite sure what brought on this type of love-making with John, there was something so open and honest, so gentle and pure about the times they were together like this. He was perpetually in awe of the look on John’s face, of the way his eyes were soft and open, the way he smiled, the gentle touches.

“I love you,” John whispered, as his hands finally slid down to cup Sherlock’s bum, he slid a finger in between his buttocks and ran just the pad of it lightly over Sherlock’s hole.

Sherlock gasped and his body arched back into John’s touch, “Please.”

John smiled at him and pressed one more sweet kiss to Sherlock’s lips before squirming out from under Sherlock and rearranging them so that Sherlock was laid face down on the bed, a pillow under his hips. John pressed kisses to his shoulders and then his spine, lavishing attention to every spot that made Sherlock shudder.

“This is supposed to be about what you want,” Sherlock said with a groan as John’s tongue traced the dimple on his back.

“Then hush and let me continue,” John replied, nibbling at the flesh of Sherlock’s bottom before cupping it in his palms and massaging.

Sherlock groaned and spread his legs, his hips rolling a bit to press his aching cock into the mattress. John continued to rub his bum but his lips went back to tracing Sherlock’s spine, following it down, down, down until he finally reached Sherlock’s tailbone. He scraped his teeth lightly against it, then pressed a kiss to the same spot before sliding down even further and pressing a chaste kiss to Sherlock’s hole.

“John,” Sherlock gasped softly, burying his face in his arms and spreading his legs further yet to give John as much space as he could.

John’s hands gripped Sherlock’s buttocks and drew them apart and a moment later his tongue was lapping softly at Sherlock’s entrance. Not pressing forward, not breaching him, just pressing softly, re-familiarizing itself with Sherlock’s body. Sherlock whimpered and his toes curled as his head went soft and fuzzy, there was nothing in his mind now but desire.

After John pressed one more soft kiss to that puckered flesh his tongue formed a point and he wiggled it against Sherlock’s entrance. Patiently pressing forward until Sherlock’s muscles relaxed and he began thrusting in and out slowly. Rolling his tongue in circles around the flesh and stretching Sherlock.

“Please,” Sherlock whimpered.

John pressed a finger in along side his tongue and Sherlock keened. When John pulled back he pressed a kiss to the base of Sherlock’s spine and added a bit of lube. He prepared Sherlock slowly (far too slowly for Sherlock’s impatience) drawing his fingers in and out, watching as they disappeared and reappeared.

Finally, when Sherlock was a writhing mass of limbs on the bed, John withdrew his fingers and slid up so he was covering Sherlock’s back, his slicked up cock pressing against Sherlock’s entrance.

“Yes,” Sherlock groaned. “Please, John. Please.”

“Shh,” John soothed, rubbing his hands up and down Sherlock’s sides in a calming gesture. He pressed into Sherlock’s body painstakingly slowly leaving Sherlock whimpering and whispering John’s name over and over.

When John was fully seated, he reached up and slipped his fingers through Sherlock’s. He covered him and the heat of John radiated through Sherlock’s body; the scent of sandalwood soap and the faint tang of sweat surrounded him, the warmth of John’s body over and around his sent tingles flowing through him making his back arch in an effort to get irrationally closer to his lover.

John pressed kisses to the back of Sherlock’s neck, “I love you,” he whispered.

“John,” Sherlock murmured in reply, shuddering at the words and arching into John a bit.

John took it as the encouragement it was and began to rock in and out of Sherlock’s body, pressing in slowly and deeply over and over again. His movements had Sherlock whimpering and crying out, building the heat within the pit of his belly higher and higher. John continued steadily like this, pressing kisses to every bit of Sherlock’s skin he could reach and murmuring soft words in his ear.

“John,” Sherlock said when John reached down and grasped Sherlock’s hips, angling him just a bit differently and brushing over his prostrate.

“That’s it,” John encouraged, “So beautiful,” he murmured as he slicked his lips across the skin of Sherlock’s neck and shoulders. “You’re amazing, Sherlock,” he whispered. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

“Wait,” Sherlock said, groaning as John’s hips stilled.

“What, love?”

Sherlock turned his head to look at John as best he could over his shoulder, “It’s nothing, nevermind,” he said pressing his arse back against John in an attempt to get him to start moving. Tonight was about John and if this is what he wanted this is what he would have.

“It’s not nothing,” John said, gripping Sherlock’s hips to still his movement. “Tell me.”

“I just,” Sherlock swallowed and buried his face in the pillow, suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed, “I just want to see you.”

“Sorry?” John asked, pressing a kiss to the top of Sherlock’s spine. “That came out a bit muffled.”

Sherlock lifted his head, “I just want to see you.”

He felt John smile against the skin at the back of his neck before slipping out. Sherlock groaned at the loss of connection and whined at John.

“Well you can’t have it both ways,” John said with a chuckle. John laid down on his back and motioned for Sherlock to move.

Sherlock grinned at him as he straddled John’s hips, reaching back to grasp John’s cock in his fist as John’s hands came up to grip his hips guiding his movements, keeping Sherlock sinking down on his cock more slowly than Sherlock would have chosen. Sherlock groaned when he had sunk all the way down on John’s cock and circled his hips.

“Gorgeous,” John murmured, stroking his fingers up and down Sherlock’s thighs.

Sherlock looked down at John, his hair fell back off his face and his cheeks were rosy from the exertion; his eyes were bright and warm, the pupils dilated far enough to block out most of the blue; a soft, affectionate smile played at the corner of his lips. He was perfect. “I adore you.”

A pleased grin broke out across John’s face. “The feeling is mutual, my love,” he murmured as he leaned up to press a kiss to Sherlock’s lips before laying back down and guiding Sherlock’s hips into motion once more.

Sherlock began riding John’s cock, steadily pressing faster and faster, watching as John’s face and chest flushed further and he was gasping, his hips bucking up into Sherlock’s body as Sherlock slid down.

“Do you think you can come without me touching you?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded, truth be told, he was rather close already. “Are you close?”

“Mmmhmm,” John replied, he shuddered as Sherlock’s muscles clenched around him at a particularly well placed thrust.

“Fuck,” Sherlock groaned. “Right there, John.” John obliged him, holding Sherlock’s hips at a steady angle and snapping up into him. “Oh,” Sherlock gasped. “Yes. Yes. Please, right there.” His head tipped back and he felt his balls clenching tight to his body, pulsing slightly. “Don’t stop. Unngh. John, please. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” John murmured, stroking the skin of Sherlock’s hip bones with his thumbs. “You’re incredible. So beautiful, Sherlock. You feel amazing,” John said, all of his words rushing together in their haste to make it out of his mouth. “I love you.”

With those three little words, Sherlock lost the last of his composure and his cock spurted come across John’s chest and stomach, his muscles clamping down around John’s cock as he came.

“Yes,” John groaned, continuing to pump his hips and work Sherlock through his orgasm.

Sherlock collapsed forward and John moved to pull out of him. Sherlock shook his head and clung to John’s shoulders, “Finish.”

“You’re too sensitive, sweetheart,” John murmured as he pressed his lips to Sherlock's forehead.

Sherlock shook his head again and started to roll the two of them, John took the hint and they stayed locked together but with Sherlock now laying on his back, John bracketed between his thighs. “Come on,” Sherlock said wrapping his legs around John’s hips and pulling him forward. “Please,” Sherlock whispered, knowing full well that John could never resist his pleading.

John groaned and began pumping his hips again. His eyes locked with Sherlock's and Sherlock reached up to cup his face in his palms. He rose up slightly and John met him halfway, their lips coming together in what could more easily be described as an additional point of contact than a kiss. John groaned against his mouth and panted.

He pulled back and rested his forehead against Sherlock’s, his hips pounding into Sherlock’s body faster and faster. “I love you,” John said again before his body jerked and stilled, his orgasm rushing through him and emptying into Sherlock’s body.

John went slack in Sherlock’s arms and Sherlock cradled his body to his chest. His arms and legs wrapped around John, holding him close and stroking the damp skin on his back. “I love you, too,” Sherlock murmured into John’s neck. He felt John grin into the skin of his shoulder and press a kiss to the skin there.

They stayed like that until they started to get chilly then Sherlock rolled them once more so John was on his back.

John groaned a bit, stretching his arms up over his head and yawning, “That was fantastic.”

Sherlock rose from the bed but leaned back in to press a kiss to John’s lips, “It was.”

He went to the bathroom and wiped himself off before grabbing a clean flannel and coming back to where John was dozing on their bed. He smiled fondly as he began wiping him down. John opened one eye, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sherlock replied, pressing another quick kiss to John’s lips. “One more thing, don’t sleep yet


	4. Chapter 4

_John_

John yawned and forced his eyes open, stretching a bit more and shuffling into a sitting position with his back against the headboard as he waited for Sherlock to come back to bed. That really had been fantastic, sex with Sherlock was always amazing but that had just been mind blowingly good. He loved when he could make Sherlock come without touching his cock. He grinned to himself.

He couldn’t fathom what was taking Sherlock so long. He'd probably gone to get the ring, John decided. Although, he wasn't really sure how that was going to work. Did two men give each other engagement rings or did they just get wedding bands? Or did they just wear their wedding bands before they got married as a sign that they were engaged? But then what differentiated them when they got to the actual ceremony? John shrugged, undoubtedly this was something Sherlock had researched ad nauseum and would be prepared for.

The door creaked open and John heard Sherlock say, “Close your eyes.”

Obediently, John did as he was asked, “Right. They’re closed.”

He heard Sherlock’s bare feet pad across the floor then felt the bed dip as Sherlock climbed on beside him. “Okay, open.”

John opened his eyes, expecting to see a wedding ring or something similar before him. What he saw was a cake. It looked like it was homemade by the slightly uneven bumpy frosting, it had four little candles lit on the top.

Sherlock huffed, “Do I really have to sing the song?”

“It’s a birthday cake,” John said, looking up at Sherlock in bafflement.

“Well, I know it’s not perfect,” Sherlock said looking down at the cake in his hands, his shoulders slumping a bit. “Mycroft did suggest a baker but I thought,” he cleared his throat and gestured vaguely at the cake, blowing the candles out in the breeze his hand created, “Sentiment and all that.”

“Sherlock, you made this?”

Sherlock nodded but refused to look up at John.

John tipped his face up, “I love this cake. It’s perfect.”

“It’s not perfect.”

“Well, no,” John said, smiling at the cake that wasn’t level and was a completely hideous shade of blue-grey. “But I love it. And I love that you made it for me. I’m just not quite clear on the why.”

“I know I’m terrible with dates, John. But I deduced your birthday this morning,” Sherlock said, looking rather proud of himself. “Mrs. Hudson baked your favourite scones and that could be the only reason.”

John blinked at him and then burst out giggling. “It is not my birthday, Sherlock. My birthday is March 31. Mrs. Hudson baked my favourite scones because her coconut was about to go bad, she told us that on our way upstairs last night when we got back from the crime scene.”

Sherlock stared at him blankly for a moment, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? You must have assumed I thought today was something of importance if I’d gone through the trouble of arranging all of this.”

“I thought you were proposing!” John said.

“You thought I was proposing?” Sherlock repeated in the form of a question as though John had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

John felt his cheeks flush a bit, “Well, it seemed like a lovely, romantic evening meant for something like a proposal.”

“What would you have said?” Sherlock asked, wrinkling up his nose adorably.

“Not that it matters but I would have said yes, of course.”

“You would have said yes?” Sherlock asked incredulously. “If I’d just walked back in with a rose or a ring or the promise of ten head of cattle, or whatever one uses to propose, you would have said yes?”

“Yeah,” John said, feeling his cheeks flush even more deeply at Sherlock’s incredulity. “Look,” he said, clearing his throat and turning his head to stare at the window ledge so he wasn’t looking at Sherlock. “Clearly that’s not what you want and that’s fine. It’s all fine. We have something good going, we don’t need to over complicate it. Forget I said anything.”

He felt the bed shift again as Sherlock stood, John winced and refused to look at Sherlock, he was sure that he'd completely freaked the other man out. He was out of his mind, what had he been thinking? Of course Sherlock Holmes wasn’t going to propose to him.

Sherlock cleared his throat and said, “John.”

John turned his head reluctantly to look at the man he loved, “What.”

“Marry me?” Sherlock asked with a tiny, crooked grin.

“What?”

“Don’t be an idiot. You heard me perfectly.” His grin grew wider, “Marry me,” he told him rather than asking him again.

“Seriously?”

Sherlock nodded and John felt a matching grin stretch across his mouth, “Yeah, alright.”

Sherlock tackled him into the mattress and kissed him firmly. They kissed and laughed into each others mouths until they couldn’t breathe and until John had a cramp in his side from laughing.

He drew back and Sherlock kissed his cheek, then the other, then his forehead.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever done,” John said but he couldn’t quite wipe the grin from his face as he thought about the prospect of marrying his best friend.

“And you invaded Afghanistan,” Sherlock quipped with a wink, bringing John back to that first night all those years ago.

“I didn’t do that on my own,” John replied accordingly, grinning at him.

“You’re not doing this on your own either.” Sherlock said softly but firmly.

“I love you, you madman. Now give me my engagement cake.”

Sherlock grinned and leaned across the bed to pick it up off the floor. And in a night full of surprises there was one more, the cake was far more delicious than it looked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end, darlings. I hope that you enjoyed reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it. Blessings <3


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